


We Ain't Got Nowhere To Go

by pickapersonality



Category: All Time Low (Band), Bandom
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, IT'S SO FLUFFY, M/M, There's no plot here, complete fluff, hangovers, just fluff, lying in bed, or i try to be funny sort of, sunny mornings, this is to counteract the last one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 12:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickapersonality/pseuds/pickapersonality
Summary: The light pours in through the glass, illuminating the cream walls and strips of the bed, the dresser, the wardrobe, their limbs against each other, tanned on pale. Alex is right, in his classic, weird way; they are like poetry, together, on mornings like these, and it makes Jack want to stay here forever, in bed, just him and Alex.-Jack's head hurts, but Alex is next to him and the sun is pouring through the windows.





	We Ain't Got Nowhere To Go

**Author's Note:**

> HEY so this is what i did to counteract the last sad pile of tears i posted. it's so utterly fluffy and makes me so happy so i hope it cheers you up if you're having a bad day :) 
> 
> comments are always lovely, if you have the time. 
> 
> Title taken from 'Afterglow' by All Time Low (somehow it's even better live ?¿? i did cry i confess).

As Jack stirs, light shifts around the sheets bunched at his ankles, and he groans. 

He can honestly not quite remember the amount of alcohol he drank last night, but has a recurring image of Rian dancing on a table with two lime sodas in each hand, clutched between separate fingers flashing through his feeble, hungover mind, that he'd very much like to dispel. His. Head. Hurts. 

By now, with years of practised drinking behind him, he's exactly familiar with the throbbing, thumping pain strolling around his brain. With a huff of dissatisfaction, he smushes his face into his pillow and wills the anguish to go away. 

A light finger traces up the bare expanse of his spine, a ghost touch, and he blearily lifts his head to meet Alex's hazel eyes, all wide and shimmering in the morning sunlight pouring through the bedroom windows. Their limbs are all intertwined, legs between knees and wrists clutching torsos. As Jack rolls onto his side, they lie facing each other. 

"You drank way too much last night," Is the first thing that comes out of Alex's mouth, and Jack, with a background knowledge of just how great his boyfriend was with words, is considerably disappointed with the lack of insightful comment. 

"I am very aware of that fact, right now," Jack glares at him, but Alex just laughs, teeth flashing and cheeks widening, and Jack feels his stomach contract with adoration. "How are you not dead right now?" 

"I'm not stupid with the amount of alcoholic beverages I consume," Alex says in the same condescending tone Jack is so fond of during his hangover headaches. "And watch while you down every glass you can find, with the knowledge that I'll have to lie here and watch you suffer the next morning." 

Jack really wants to make a snide comment, he does, but Alex just looks so much like an angel lying there, with his newly bleached hair like a halo, extraordinarily tussled and poking into those smiling eyes. The skull tattoo rests in its permanent spot behind his right ear, and Jack has the familiar urge to lean over and trace it with his tongue. He doesn't, at this moment in time, due to the fact that his head has become the foundations of a building site. "Fuck, why do I love you so much?" 

"My irresistible charm, undeniable charisma," Alex shoots back, "And the fact that I got up before you woke up and left Aspirin on your beside table." 

Jack does manage to surge upwards then, and sees the promised white tablet sat next to his glass. Although the sudden movement has given him the urge to vomit, he pops the pill quickly, downing the water, and surges over to rest above Alex, pushing the singer onto his back and balancing himself on his elbows, hands on either side of Alex's head. He looks up at him with an amused expression, biting down on his lip in an affected manner. 

"Thank you," Jack says, leaning down to meet Alex's lips. 

The kiss is sweet, chaste enough, open-mouthed yet slow, lips on lips. Alex's stubble is present, having not been shaved off since they fell into bed two days ago, having finished the UK tour a couple of weeks ago. The older boy trails his hands softly along Jack's back, flitting into every dip and curve, as if he didn't already know each inch of Jack's body, and eventually came up to rest at the base of Jack's head. 

Alex sighs gently into Jack's mouth, a huff of contentment, and wraps his legs around Jack's waist, knees settling into the curve of his hips. "I love you too." 

Jack laughs, smiling against Alex, and the backs of his eyelids are golden. "I know." 

Jack feels Alex's hand creeping up to thread through his dark hair, tugging gently so that Jack tilts his head upwards, and Alex attacks his neck with affectionate nips that make Jack groan. Suddenly, the sunny bedroom is spinning, and Alex tips them over, resulting in his wrists being pinned to the mattress and Alex laughing down at him with those slightly-crooked teeth. 

"I changed my mind," Jack grumbles as his head spins. "I hate you." 

"Tell yourself that," Alex continues his mission of assaulting Jack's neck, now with much better access to the tanned skin there. "My ass hurts." 

"Did we fuck last night?" His tone is surprised, as he is; he's pretty sure they didn't. 

Alex snorts, not stopping with his careful placing of kisses and soft bites - Jack would complain if he did anyway. "Of course not, you were way too drunk. I fell when you jumped on me at the party." 

"Shit," Jack is slightly relieved that he didn't jump Alex's bones, but now concerned for his wellbeing in general. "Sorry- ow, you bitch." 

He feels Alex smile against his neck, tongue trailing the bitten area to sooth the skin. Jack sighs in contentment. "What do we need to do today? Please say nothing." 

"We need milk, bread," Alex finally moves, albeit not much, and tucks his head into the crook of Jack's neck, lying half-on-top and half beside his boyfriend. "I should pick up some more guitar strings for the acoustic. And another pack of picks." 

"You writing already?" 

"You know I'm always writing," Jack can somehow feel Alex's eyes roll. "Maybe I should write about this morning." 

"What," Jack snorts, "I woke up and my boyfriend had a hangover, so I bit his neck and laughed at him?" 

"When you put it like that," Alex chuckles. "I meant the sunlight, the white sheets, tanned skin on pale." 

"Poetic shit," Jack supplies. 

"Poetic shit that pays our bills," Alex traces the tattoo splayed over the side of Jack's chest, the lines of the Skellington. "But, yeah." 

"You're so weird," Jack laughs, engulfing Alex in his arms and running his foot down the length of his calf. Alex squirms, moving back up so that he's lying, completely on top of the guitarist, and huffs against his neck. 

"You love me for it." 

"Ugh," Jack closes his eyes, enjoying the fact that he's going to be able to keep Alex in bed for a considerable amount of the day. "I do." 

The light pours in through the glass, illuminating the cream walls and strips of the bed, the dresser, the wardrobe, their limbs against each other, tanned on pale. Alex is right, in his classic, weird way; they are like poetry, together, on mornings like these, and it makes Jack want to stay here forever, in bed, just him and Alex. 

His head hurts, though. Maybe he should start partying less. But, he's been doing fine since '06. 

Nah.


End file.
